


Say My Name

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [9]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Because Hank is Soft Even if He Doesn't Want to Admit It, Begging, Bondage, Bottom Connor, Bratting, But Only for Connor, Coming In Pants, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Praise Kink, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Connor is in trouble you see, Discipline, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Forgiveness, Hard Dom Having Soft Feelings, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, No Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Rule Breaking, Top Hank Anderson, Top goading, Vibrators, mean hank anderson, or underwear I guess, scene negotiation, taking scene breaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20469068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.Part 9.__All work and no play makes Connor an intolerably bratty boy.





	Say My Name

The collar works well until it doesn’t. Anderson hadn’t thought how to address Connor’s need for attention when in public. The brat knew how to demand it well enough.

Things come to a head when Connor becomes overly touchy in front of the students. They’re performing delicate, tedious work and they haven’t had proper alone time in weeks. Anderson knows Connor’s beyond antsy, but they can’t afford to slow down right now.

“You need to check yourself,” Anderson mutters, not unkind but firm. Connor’s hips keep brushing against Anderson’s at any opportunity. He leans in too close to talk. He’s making sultry bedroom eyes and students are starting to whisper.

“Connor…” Anderson says quietly in a warning tone and Connor sighs as he steps away to a distance approaching decorum. He pouts as he reworks some finicky wiring, which Anderson pointedly ignores. It’s less than ten minutes before Connor’s pressing against him again.

“Ok,” Anderson sets down the gadget in his hand and exhales slowly through his nose, “You’re done here. Go home.”

Connor balks and Anderson can see the angry red coloring of his face, “We’re already behind. You need my help or—”

Anderson turns his profile to Connor, resuming his work, “You’re so distracted, I’d have to double-check all of your work. You’re costing me time. Go home and wait for me there. We clearly need to have a discussion.”

The conversation is quiet and to the students, they appear to be discussing the task at hand. Connor knows Anderson is trying to spare him his pride by not making a scene.

“Fine,” Connor hisses, pent up and enraged. He leaves without so much as a goodbye and Anderson returns to his work. No one comments on Connor’s departure, but Anderson feels more than a few curious gazes peer in his direction.

Anderson expects to find an upset Connor or maybe even a contrite Connor. They haven’t had to have the respect conversation in a while and Connor’s mood when he walks through the door will drive the direction of the discussion.

To his surprise, Connor isn’t waiting for him. It hadn’t been an obvious order with students listening in, but Connor knows better. It takes less than fifteen seconds for Anderson’s dour mood to grow darker. Suspicious noises drift down the hall from their room.

Standing in the doorway of their bedroom, Connor makes eye contact with Anderson as he fucks into his own fist.

“What do you think you are doing?” Anderson asks calmly, his tone light.

“Taking care of…business…since you…won’t,” Connor’s voice is strained and he gasps around words.

“Connor, stop this right now,” Anderson steps into the room, looming over his lover.

Connor’s eyes drift shut and Anderson knows he’s close. He knows that expression and something twists inside him that he isn’t the one putting it on Connor’s face.

“Connor, I said—”

Connor’s eyes snap open and Anderson can see defiance war with mild panic as he spits out a flat, “No.”

Connor’s orgasm is weaker than it would have been if Anderson had been manipulating him, but it’s a much-needed release from the stress of the week. Connor looks down at his come-covered fist and the first inklings of regret trickle in at the sight.

Anderson leaves the room as Connor sets about cleaning himself up. Shuffling meekly into the living room, he finds Anderson sitting on the sofa meant for one. Connor moves to approach him, but Anderson shakes his head and points at the couch.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Connor mumbles, unable to meet Anderson’s direct gaze.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Anderson agrees, tone lacking any inflection.

An irate Anderson, Connor would know how to handle. Cold fury was a different matter altogether. Switching tactics, Connor tries to control the damage by inspiring sympathy, “I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet and he does actually sound remorseful, “I was just—”

Anderson interrupts with that same terrifyingly calm tone, “Sorry for what Connor? Acting like an absolute shit in front of the students? Delaying the deadline even more? Or throwing your disrespect in my face? There’s really quite a lot to choose from.”

Color draining from his cheeks, Connor hunches his shoulders against accusations that sound much worse out loud than they did in his head. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, dejection clear in his voice, “for all of it. I didn’t mean t—”

Anderson cuts him off again with a quiet, “Connor, you meant all of it. It was deliberate. It was intolerably rude.”

Anderson rises to his full height and Connor’s heart starts to race at the sight. He can’t move and he doesn’t pull away when Anderson grips him lightly by the jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, knowing it’s inadequate.

Despite his hushed tone, Connor hears every word, “Darling, you haven’t even begun to be sorry yet.”

“Hank,” Connor nuzzles the hand on his face in a last-ditch effort to soothe his lover’s bruised pride. He hadn’t meant to be so flagrantly defiant and insolent. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious in front of the students. He's just been so _frustrated_.

Anderson’s grip tightens. It’s not painful, but it demands Connor’s attention, “Spoiled brats don’t get to say my name.”

“Sir?” Connor breathes the question and Anderson’s grip relaxes by a few degrees.

He knows Anderson prefers to remain under the radar even if he's not a student anymore. He still values their privacy and Connor had jeopardized that.

“You’re usually respectful, Connor. I haven’t had a need to correct you in a long time,” Anderson lets go of Connor’s face in favor of pulling his own hair back into a ponytail. Connor wonders if Anderson can hear his heart trying to hammer its way out of his chest.

“If you have any requests or need to adjust your limits, now’s the time to discuss them.” Connor shivers but a small part of him preens. He’d been after Anderson’s undivided attention and he’s was about to receive it unequivocally.

Still, he’s absolutely certain he’s bitten off more than he can chew, “Han—Sir. Please, I’m sorry. I can make…I won’t do it again.” Connor surges forward to bury his face in Anderson’s stomach. Gentle hands peel him away.

“You don’t need to be scared,” Anderson’s words are quiet and soft; a small reprieve. “I would never harm you.”

Whatever Anderson had planned, Connor knows it was going to wreck him no matter what Anderson claims, “What if I need to stop?” He knows the rules, but he needs to hear Anderson say it.

“Then you tap and we’ll put a pin in this until another time,” Connor cringes, fully aware he isn’t going to escape giving Anderson his due. Still, he nods. He knows he’s safe even if trepidation swims in the pit of his stomach.

“Any other concerns?” Connor knows Anderson’s giving him an opportunity to put constraints on the scene but nothing new comes to mind. Anderson knows his limits and will work within those confines.

“How do you want me?” Connor flushes hideously as he asks the question, but Anderson mouth quirks, quite pleased that Connor still remembers the protocol they’d established for discipline. Anderson hadn’t been lying; it’s been a long time since Connor pushed him this far.

“Bedroom. Strip to your briefs. Face down, ass up. I’ll take care of the rest,” Anderson cards his fingers through Connor’s hair and Connor soaks in the gentle touch. It will probably be the last tender thing Anderson does until he’s satisfied that Connor’s learned his lesson.

Rising on trembling legs, Connor does as he’s told and waits. Anderson enters the room soon after and Connor can hear him moving around, opening and closing drawers. He flinches when a bottle of lube hits the bed and rolls to a stop against his knee.

His breathing quickens when Anderson tugs his wrists together, binding them. He moves to his legs next and Connor lets out a squeak when Anderson brings his calf to his hamstring, securing it with intricate knotting before repeating it on the opposite leg. Tugging his ankles together, Anderson binds them as well.

Connor can see him loop a final rope through and around the slatted bedframe and he feels the pull at both ends of his body by the time Anderson is done. Tugging with his wrists, a corresponding jerk at his ankles nearly pulls his knees out from under him.

He hears something begin vibrating behind him, but with his underwear still on, he’s not certain what to expect. Anderson taps at his inner thigh and Connor does his best to spread them further apart despite the ropes.

He fumbles more than once and makes a frustrated sound as he tries to correct his stance. Anderson all but purrs in response, “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? When something doesn’t behave the way you expect it to.”

Connor’s face burns at the thinly veiled reprimand and he nods. Once he’s regained his balance, he glances down trying to see what Anderson intends to do. Strong vibrations begin to hum against his dick through the thin material of his underwear.

His hips buck in surprise and he emits a small whimper at the sensation. The vibrations are low and nowhere near enough to get him off, but he’s still sensitive from his recent orgasm and Anderson knows it.

“So,” Anderson’s voice rains down on him from above as he continues to work the vibrator against Connor’s length. “You wanted me to…” Anderson breaks off with a hum as if in thought, “_take care of business_ as you put it?”

Connor’s wince transforms into a lewd hump when Anderson increases the intensity of the toy. Connor knows Anderson expects an answer, “Yes, sir.” His tone is quiet and contrite despite his growing neediness.

He lets out a yelp of surprise when Anderson pulls his briefs aside to run a thumb over his twitching hole, “You wanted me to fuck you, Connor?”

Connor nods before whimpering, “Still do.”

Anderson swirls the tip of the vibrator around the head of Connor’s covered erection. Connor moans and pre-cum leaks through, leaving a damp mark on his underwear.

“Brats don’t deserve my cock,” Anderson says flatly and the vibrations cease abruptly. The sensitivity had worn off and Connor had begun to rock his hips into the sensation, seeking more.

Anderson’s phone rings and Connor closes his eyes as if the person on the other side might somehow be able to see him. As expected, Anderson answers, “Hank Anderson speaking…That’s right. We won’t be in tomorrow.”

Connor jerks in surprise and nearly topples himself in the process. Anderson ignores him, “We’re run ragged, Jeff. We need a mental health day.” Realizing there’s no real timeline for this anymore, Connor has to bite down on a frantic sound.

Anderson ends the call and runs a thumb over the tip of Connor’s dick protruding from the waistband of his briefs. He works the head of Connor’s shaft mercilessly until Connor’s a twitching mess.

“Sir,” Connor breathes out a warning and Anderson releases his grip on him. He sags, rutting gently against the bed despite the restraints. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s so damn close and—

Anderson grips him by the hips, hiking them into the air, “I didn’t say you could come.” Connor groans into the mattress and he can hear Anderson’s smile in his words, “As I’m sure you heard, we have all night.”

He doesn’t know how long he lasts before his hips collapse and he can’t remain on his knees. Anderson unbinds him partially, enough to flip him over and disconnect his wrists from his feet. His arms remain outstretched and attached to the headboard while his legs remain bound like a frog.

He’s painfully aware of every inch of his skin as overwhelming need courses thought his body. He’s sensitive and desperately seeking release. When Anderson finally lets him come, his relief is short-lived.

Warm, wet release spurts weakly through the fabric of his underwear and Anderson tuts, “Such a mess,” before working them up and over Connor’s bound legs. He languidly runs the vibrator up and down Connor’s length through the final weak pulses of his orgasm.

He doesn’t stop when Connor’s hips begin to buck in sensitivity and Connor groans when Anderson increases the speed. Connor tries to twist away from the vibrations, closing his knees against the agonizing onslaught of sensation.

Anderson spreads Connor’s thighs wide with his own powerful legs. Bound and overstimulated, Connor sobs when Anderson continues working his spent cock. He’s begging, he knows it even if he can’t hear the words over his frantic heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Anderson squeezes at the sensitive tip with a growl, “You _will_ give me another one.”

He turns to hide his face when the first tear falls. He wants so badly to behave, to give Anderson what he wants. He just can’t—

The vibrations cease abruptly, and Anderson’s hand is on his face, thumbing at a tear, “Do you need to stop?” There’s no judgment or accusation in Anderson’s tone and Connor shakes his head violently. Unconvinced, Anderson presses him again, “Do you need me to slow down?”

Connor emits a choked sound before shaking his head again, “No. I want—I want to be good. I want, I can—,”

“Connor,” Anderson’s tone is soft again, “it’s ok if you need to take a break.”

This time, Connor nods and Anderson immediately releases his wrists before unraveling the ropes around his legs. He flexes them slowly, peering at the markings for a long moment before giving Connor the ok to move.

He’s on Anderson in an instant, tugging at him and pulling him down. He curls against him, breathing in his scent, trying to pull himself together. Anderson lets Connor cling to him and take comfort from his nearness.

“I need you,” Connor murmurs into the fabric of Anderson’s shirt barely above a whisper.

“You have me,” is Anderson’s immediate answer, “you’ll always have me.” The words wash over Connor like a warm caress. “What has you so frantic?”

Connor swallows, “I can’t—not another—not if you’re going to…” Connor fades off, not certain how to admit he isn’t going to be able to continue on past this next orgasm.

“If I’m going to what?” He should’ve known Anderson would make him spell it out.

He rocks his hips into Anderson’s, whimpering at the feel of Anderson’s erection pressing against his through his slacks. He wants him inside him, needs it so badly he’s been unable to think of anything else for days. It had been too long, too much work life interfering with their bedroom.

“If you’re going to fuck me,” the words come out quiet and small and Anderson’s body relaxes in understanding.

“Oh, Connor. I already told you,” Anderson strokes at his spine and the touch distracts Connor momentarily from his words, “that’s a privilege you don’t have right now.”

Connor bolts upright, wide-eyed, “But I thought…Ha—S-Sir! I’m being good, I’m…I’m—oh god, please. It’s all I wanted. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for being rude. I need you inside me, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be—”

Anderson listens to Connor ramble and plead, enjoying the miniature gyrations of his hips. A weaker man than Anderson would cave to Connor’s desperate pleas.

He wants to bite the full bottom lip of Connor’s pout. He wants to listen to him shriek and beg as he splits him in half. He wants to watch Connor come undone around his cock but:

“Connor,” Anderson speaks and Connor falls silent at the finality in his tone, “it wouldn’t be much of a lesson if you got your way in the end.”

“No, please,” Connor breathes out his objection, curling once more against Anderson’s side.

Anderson grips him lightly by the chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, “Remember this next time you think about disrespecting me again. There are consequences for bad behavior, Connor. You know that.”

Releasing him, Anderson lets Connor hide his face against his neck, “Let me know when you’re ready.” He feels Connor’s small nod against him as his breath hitches in distress.

Granting Connor a small bit of kind touch, he runs the backs of his knuckles over Connor’s cheek, “You’re doing well, Connor. Take as much time as you need.”

Connor calms noticeably at Anderson’s approval and it isn’t long before he whispers, “Ok.”

It always shocks Connor how quickly Anderson can snap in and out of a scene when Connor needs him to stop or slow down. Demanding hands replace the brief burst of gentleness as Anderson moves him into position.

Connor’s regret at showing his hand is immediate. Anderson swirls a fingertip against his entrance, teasing at the puckered hole and he resumes massaging the length of Connor’s dick with the vibrator.

“Just think, Connor,” Anderson begins conversationally, “I could be fucking you right now if you’d behaved yourself today.” He prods slightly and his finger almost sinks into Connor before he pulls back. Connor nearly screams in frustration.

Face predatory, Anderson reaches for a wide strip of elastic and Connor whines at the sight, “Oh, no. Please, please, please. It’s too much. I can’t—” Anderson knows he can, strapping the vibrator along Connor’s rigid length.

Connor sobs at the sudden sensation along the entirety of his shaft and he thrusts up into nothing, simultaneously seeking more and trying to run away from the vibrations.

With the toy held in place, Anderson’s hands are free to torment. Connor hears a cap pop and feels the chill of lube run down his balls and over his needy hole. Anderson lounges beside Connor, reaching down to toy at his slick entrance.

Connor’s on the verge of exploding and he can’t stop asking for what he knows he can’t have. Anderson ignores his pleas for Anderson to fuck him, to punish him with his cock. Not that the idea doesn’t appeal, but Connor’s made his own bed. He has to lie in it.

Oversensitive, Connor’s third orgasm of the day takes longer to achieve—not that Anderson is in any particular rush. More than once, Connor warns him he’s close and Anderson turns down the vibrations.

Eventually, Connor stops begging for Anderson to fuck him and shifts to asking for release. “Sir, please,” his voice is pitiful and weak and Anderson knows he’s got him, “let me come.”

He’d been waiting for Connor’s stubbornness to crack, for that moment he truly accepted that he could only have what Anderson was willing to give him. Removing the vibrator from Connor’s rigid and leaking dick, he finally takes him in hand.

Connor sobs in relief at the first pump of Anderson’s fist. He knows exactly how to bring Connor to bone-shattering completion and it won’t be long now.

“So good for me,” Anderson murmurs into Connor’s ear, watching his breath become more frantic with each stroke.

“S-Sir,” Connor stutters and his fingers flex in and out of the bedding as his hips rut up into Anderson’s fist.

Anderson slows a fraction to whisper into Connor’s ear, “Who’s going to make you come, Connor? Say it for me.”

Connor whines at the slowed touches and gasps out, “You are, sir.”

Anderson noses at the shell of Connor’s ear, “No, sweetheart. Say my _name_.”

Understanding melts over Connor and his hands fly up to bury themselves in Anderson’s hair and he rolls to his side to face him. Anderson’s hand never loses its grip.

“Hank, god, please. Hank,” Connor repeats his name like a prayer and Anderson silences him with a kiss. He cries out into Anderson’s mouth as his third orgasm races through him, leaving him tired and weak.

“Hank, Hank, Hank,” Connor whimpers through the final pulses of his release as Anderson makes soft soothing sounds.

He strokes at Connor’s back before finding a towel to clean him up. When he comes back to bed, Connor clings to him, insecure and needy for his touch. Anderson doesn’t deny him, “I’ve got you. You are so good, sweetheart. So good for me.”

Connor shudders at the praise and hiccups a few times before speaking, “I’m sorry.” He still sounds upset and Anderson pulls him close. He peppers kisses along Connor’s neck and shoulder, listening to him apologize. He knows it won’t happen again—at least, not anytime soon.

“I know, Connor,” Anderson says quietly, interrupting his apology monologue. “Clean slate,” he adds when Connor’s body language remains uncertain. Connor exhales a relieved sigh and finally settles down to go to sleep.

He can’t help the burst of fondness that floods his body as he holds Connor close. He’s a brat and he tests Anderson’s patience more than any lover that came before him, but he tries harder as well. He loves harder, too.

The person that he was a few years ago would sneer at him and call him soft, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to wake up early and make Connor an omelet and a parfait. He knows he’ll be hungry; he always is after a difficult scene.

He’ll let him lounge across his lap on the couch while they catch up on reading they’ve long ignored. He’ll finally trim his beard—weeks overdue—and then?

He’ll fuck Connor ten ways to next Tuesday. If he wants him to.

Soft he thinks to himself then smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake)


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